Spadework
by Glisseo
Summary: James might be intelligent, but he doesn't always say the right thing. Or do the right the thing. And sometimes, he just looks like an idiot. J/L sixth year one-shot.


"McCormack passes to Baines – oh, that's a nice Bludger from Bagman, Wasps take possession … Singh with the Quaffle – and Portree's Keeper is half-asleep, this isn't going to be a problem for Singh – it isn't – HE SCORES!"

Startled into consciousness by the sudden rise in volume, James bolted upright in his chair, yelping, "I wasn't asleep!"

There was silence, but for the commentator's crackly voice from the wireless on the table, and, feeling foolish, he realised that he was quite alone in the common room.

He rubbed his neck, which was aching from having slumped at an awkward angle in the armchair, and pointed his wand at the radio to increase the volume. The Wasps-Portree match had been going on for hours now, and ordinarily he might have given it up as a bad job, but it was a European Cup qualifier and, besides, Remus' doubt that he could stay awake all night if it were to last that long had been enough to make James plonk himself in the best armchair by the fire with the declaration that he could, and would, stay awake for the duration of the match.

The fire was nothing but dying embers now, and even though no one had to know, he still felt annoyed that he had fallen asleep. From the commentary, he didn't seem to have missed that much; the Wasps were still ahead, and there was no sign of the Snitch. Portree's Seeker was good, though ... Shivering slightly, James checked his watch. Only quarter past twelve, and he was flagging! He hadn't done his Potions homework, it suddenly occurred to him. Slughorn would not be best pleased; he wasn't overly fond of James and Sirius, given their habit of either declining invitations to the Slug Club, or showing up and causing trouble. Still, James mused, he could catch up on sleep in detention ...

Goosebumps were prickling on his arms. If he rekindled the fire, the warmth would surely send him off to sleep again ... He looked around and spotted a jumper lying on a nearby chair. Snagging it, he returned to his own seat and pulled the woolly sleeves around himself like a blanket. It smelled nice, like his mother's garden.

If he had been more awake, it might have registered that this was probably a girl's sweater, but he wasn't, and it didn't. The match went on, with the commentator observing that it had started to rain in Wimbourne, and James thought of rain, and how nice it would be to light the fire, and his eyelids drooped ...

THUD.

For the second time that night, he was jolted awake, his neck jarring painfully. This time, however, he made no sound, silently scrabbling for his wand, for he thought the noise had come from the direction of the portrait hole, and what if it was a Slytherin, come to attack James and his friends while they slept? 

But it wasn't a Slytherin. It was Lily Evans, bathed fetchingly in the light from her wand as she pushed her hair out of her face. What had she been doing? James had, of course, noticed that she was not in the common room earlier, assuming she was in the library, which would have closed hours ago ... Had she been out with someone? He thought he could hear the Fat Lady's peeved voice.

His question was answered by the appearance of a second figure. Holding his own lit wand aloft, seventh year and Gryffindor Keeper Donald McDougall climbed through the portrait hole and grinned at Lily, who whispered something that made him laugh. James felt a thrill of outrage and, unreasonably, betrayal. Out after curfew! He had a good mind to go and wake Remus. This sort of thing couldn't be allowed.

He was so preoccupied with feeling outraged and betrayed that he completely forgot he was sitting in plain sight, openly boggling at Lily and McDougall. Before he could do anything - like dive behind the armchair, or into the fireplace - they had spotted him. He quickly pretended to be fiddling with the dials on the wireless, and only looked around, feigning surprise, when Lily greeted him.

"Oh, hi," he said composedly, as if he wasn't sitting alone in the dark common room like a loser, listening to the radio with what he now realised was a pink sweater draped over himself. Both Lily and McDougall were far too nice to point out what a prat he must look, which made him feel even more stupid.

"Is that the Portree-Wasps match?" asked McDougall, who looked effortlessly handsome, the prick.

James nodded. "You can stay and listen if you like," he offered, which he thought was very decent of him, even though he was crossing his fingers that McDougall would decline. He had no desire to sit there with someone who had just been out with Lily Evans doing Merlin-knew-what. Were their robes rumpled? He felt sick at the thought.

Thankfully, McDougall shook his head. "I'm knackered," he said, with a sideways glance at Lily that James hoped he was imagining. "Think I'm gonna go straight to bed."

"Oh, shame," James lied. "Well, see you."

"Night, Potter." McDougall kissed Lily's cheek, very briefly: Lily blushed, and James nearly threw up. "You're not coming up?"

"No, I've got a bit of homework. I'll see you at breakfast, all right?" James thought she sounded embarrassed to be having this interaction. Or perhaps, more specifically, to be having this interaction in front of James. It was possible his presence was preventing them from saying good night in a more physical fashion; he felt cheered by the thought.

Shrugging, McDougall said good night and went off to the boys' dormitories. Lily, still slightly flushed, sat down heavily in the armchair across from James.

"D'you mind if I sit here?" she addressed him. "It's just I've got this homework -"

"Course not," said James. She smiled in thanks and drew her things from her bag. "What homework is it?"

"Potions."

"I haven't done it."

"Sluggy will be devastated if I don't," said Lily. "He'll take it as a personal affront."

"Teacher's pet," James sang.

"What does that make you? Teacher's pest?" Lily grinned at her own joke. James started to retort, but was swiftly distracted by the announcement of a Wasps goal from the wireless.

"I can't believe that's still going on," Lily remarked, writing busily. "You were listening to it when I left. Surely the Snitch can't be that hard to find."

James agreed. "I bet I could get it, and I'm not even trained for -"

He broke off abruptly, the significance of Lily's words sinking in. Had she been watching him, if she knew what he was doing?

Before she left with another bloke, he reminded himself.

"You must be really dedicated to follow it this long," Lily went on, apparently not noticing his sudden silence. "Donald's a huge Wasps fan, but he's didn't even bother tuning in."

"Doesn't sound like a huge fan to me," James said scathingly. At this, Lily put down her quill, eyes narrowed.

"I thought you two were mates?"

James had thought so, too, which was most likely why he was so bitter about McDougall going out with Lily. They weren't friends, exactly: they were teammates, but in James' book, that still meant something. It was hard not to get on with McDougall - almost everyone did, because he was good natured, generous, a team player and, quite simply, a nice bloke. The kind of person who would never dangle someone's friend upside down by their ankles, even if they really deserved it, like Snivellus did.

"He's all right," said James offhandedly. "I'm just not sure he's the type you'd really want as a boyfriend."

"Why?" asked Lily, her eyed narrowing further. "What's wrong with him?"

James struggled to think of something believable, but it was impossible: the bastard was perfect. Growing frustrated, he burst out, "he's called Donald McDougall, for God's sake!"

"That's outrageous," said Lily, her lips twitching. "How dare he have a name! I should go and ditch him right now."

"Nah, let him sleep," said James kindly. "You can do it first thing in the morning."

Lily passed a hand over her eyes, looking as though she was trying not to laugh. "You really think I should break up with him?"

"Certainly," James answered promptly. "I'll do it for you if you like."

"What if," Lily pressed on, "he was so upset that he quit the Quidditch team?"

James stopped smiling. For all his imaginary faults, McDougall was a cracking Keeper. "Maybe wait until the next match is over," he suggested hastily. "Don't do anything rash."

Now Lily did laugh, shaking her head as she returned to her homework. James realised he had lost interest in the match: pointing his wand at the wireless, he turned the volume right down and asked Lily, "how did you two even get together, anyway?"

"He asked me out," said Lily, eyes still on her work. "Well, I should clarify - we were talking in Charms Club and he asked if I'd like to go out with him. No blackmail or anything." She finally looked up, gazing pointedly at James. "You know, like a normal person."

It was the first reference she'd made to the incident by the lake, and though James had not dwelled much on it, too humiliated by her angry rejection, he now felt distinctly wrong-footed and ... ashamed? Was this shame?

What was more, for the first time, he didn't blame her for not wanting to go out with him. In comparison to Donald McDougall, he seemed like a colossal arsehole.

"Yeah?" he replied heavily. "Well, I can see why that would have been irresistible."

Lily considered him for a long moment, fiddling with the ends of her hair, then said, "Didn't you go to Hogsmeade with Dinah Jones the other week? You must've asked her out successfully."

"Suppose so, yeah," James said carelessly, though the truth was that Dinah Jones, good-looking as she was, did not make him feel nearly so flustered as Lily did. And he hadn't thought the date had gone that badly, but when he'd suggested they do it again, Dinah had looked awkward. "I don't know - maybe not," she'd told him, and when he had insisted on knowing why, she had said she thought he was too much of a show-off.

Girls telling him what they really thought of him seemed to be a trend these days.

"I heard it didn't work out," Lily ventured, still watching him closely. There was a note in her voice that was either sympathy or pity, and he wasn't sure he liked either.

"Yeah, well, she wasn't really my type," he lied, then frowned. "How d'you know it didn't work out?"

There was a pause. "Dinah told me."

James would have given anything to disappear right there on the spot. He was sure his cheeks were flaming: if this had been a last ditch opportunity to impress Lily Evans, then he was severely cocking it up. The only thing he'd be able to boast about from now on was his ability to dig himself into the deepest of holes.

He took a deep breath and decided to make one final attempt, this time from a different angle.

"Did you know I haven't had detention for two weeks?" He nodded as Lily raised her eyebrows. "That's right. And I'm pretty sure the last one was because I was falsely accused."

"You're pretty sure?"

"Well, I might have done it. I can't rule out that possibility."

Lily laughed. Delighted, James felt his confidence returning, and he grinned at her. "Shall I light the fire?" he suggested, thinking she might be inclined to stay longer if it was more comfortable. It was strange, but he no longer felt tired.

"Might as well," Lily yawned. "This is taking me forever ..."

"I admit no responsibility," James said, stretching in preparation to get to his feet after a long time in the armchair. He felt Lily's eyes on him, and glanced at her. "What?"

"Oh, I ..." She wore an expression that was half embarrassed, half amused. "Is that ... my jumper?"

James looked down and swore vehemently under his breath.


End file.
